


Release the Demons

by sakon



Series: in our moments of vulnerability [1]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Episode: s02e15 Revelations, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:35:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24707704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakon/pseuds/sakon
Summary: After his experience with Tobias, Reid lets Morgan take him to his home.
Relationships: Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid
Series: in our moments of vulnerability [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1786246
Comments: 1
Kudos: 82





	Release the Demons

Reid borrows his shoulder all the way back.

Between both of them, Morgan isn't sure who's more bowed. He isn't sure whether the loud inhale and shaky breathing is him or Reid.

The hands that bury crescents into his skin don't give sheen in the light; the dirt and grime are too much. It leaves him staring into the distant city lights and midnight clouds as they walk. He feels a wave of anger coursing through his veins, remote and so cold, yet, he can sense it burst through his shoulder.

They bury into his shoulder until they crash at the shitty motel, the front desk lady eyeing them as they walk in. It's not hard to discard the look and head to the elevator, not with the heavy breathing and the cold air welcoming them to a safe place. Reid stands a little taller, still missing a shoe, not caring if the motel carpet gets dirtied.

They make it to the door, Reid firing off a statistic about motel murders, and him resisting the urge to slap him upside the head. 

Opening the rickety room, he helps Reid to the bed. It's rough, but it's better than the floor.

Morgan asks if he wants to clean up, runs the water in the tub without prompting, and brings the tiny tinctures and hotel soaps out of their packages. The dirt cakes his skin, his blood burns, and Reid wonders when the surge of lightning will finally escape his skin. He refuses the hotel shower.

"This isn't the place to," He says, biting a hand onto a dirt crusted thumb. His typical disdain for grime and gruel is somehow silenced by the cockroaches crawling up the walls and the cigarette-yellow walls. There is nothing clean about it. 

It is safe, but it isn't clean. It's no place of healing. Morgan drains the bathtub, leaving the sample sizes to their own devices.

For all the fish scent and dirty blankets, Morgan doesn't care for the fact that it'll be a burden on the hotel staff and might arouse some suspicion. They wouldn't investigate it regardless, he's positive. So he leaves him to his plain sheets and ugly blankets and sheds his clothes, eyes occasionally flickering to the now huddled figure. 

He watches under the yellow lights, his breath calming as he stares. With his back against the wall, eyes trained on his kid, they close into the black oblivion, blinking to the rise and fall of his chest, and before he could tell himself, he's falling asleep, his eyes close into the night. 

* * *

In the morning, the sun wakes him up, blaring in his eyes with golden glory. He groans something and rolls off the bed, still feeling the cake of dirt across his skin.

Reid jumps at his shuffling, groggily rubbing his eyes and gripping the sheet with white knuckles. He stares into the thick blankets, dilated eyes and veins popping from his sickly, dirt-stained hands, and inhales and exhales. Softly. Slowly. He calms.

Minding his space, Morgan takes his time with minimal shuffling and movement to gather his belongings. After a moment of cooling himself down, Reid does the same.

They don't take the plane back with the others. Not today, not when Morgan offered to drive the whole time and not when the hunger for Dilaudid could've caught him at any time. He's new to it, so he doesn't risk the idea.

It's quiet. His hands occasionally leave the spot in his lap to linger beside Derek's, close enough to feel the heat. The closest their hands get to holding is Reid brushing against his pinkie as he reaches to change the channel to something more city-esque. Right, country music wouldn't be good.

After hours, they arrive at one of Derek's many places, the click of a lock, and the rustling of the doorknob a buzz in his ears as Morgan unlocks it. He can distantly hear the keys jingling as he shoves them into his pocket with a half-asleep arm and no care as he follows the warm presence inside. Morgan steps inside and leads him into his home, a hand hovering over the small of his back. For support, perhaps. 

A shirt is strewn across the floor. There's a pan in the sink and a half-full garbage can. It feels like a home. He leaves him leaning on a couch and jogs to the restroom, tossing off his shoes at the door.

The sound of sloshing bathwater notifies him of Morgan running water, and he can hear him pacing across the floor, taking down conditioners and shampoos and washes. There's a light pouring out of the door, with Morgan occasionally obscuring it.

He waits. Then comes, "Pretty boy, come on!" after many minutes.

Reid's never been in the bathroom alone with another man, let alone a person he views in such a non-platonic way, yet he doesn't feel the stress creeping on him. It yanks a little anxiety out of him, but he's too comfortable with Morgan to feel alarmed. He doesn't feel keen to be touched, but he almost likes the idea of Morgan being kind to him and showering him with a gentler affection. And _maybe_ the idea of somebody else there sounds terrible, but it's not as so wrong to think of Morgan there.

He creeps in and sits on the edge of the tub, Morgan standing beside it and positioned to see himself in the mirror. Almost on instinct, Morgan turns away. 

"Get undressed, Doc, I'm not lookin'." Morgan cranes his head even further away and turns his whole body.

It takes a deep breath for him to start unbuckling his belt and pants, trailing up to his shirt to contemplate as he shimmied out of the dirtied pants he'd probably throw away. His fingers sit on the column of buttons, tracing over the marks in the crevice of his arm. Deciding to leave it on, he steps into the water, stinging his feet and the warmth of the water coaxing a sigh from his lips.

Morgan turns around a moment later, inching near the clothes and even closer to the pockets. His hand stretches and —

"Don't do that," Reid says, voice more alert than it had been.

"What, you got something you're hiding from me?" Derek raises a brow and wiggles his fingers at the pants, hands lingering some distance away.

Reid seizes up for a moment. 

"Please, _don't_." He furrows his brows; a hand extended towards his pants. Morgan hates the look on his face. 

So, he steps a pace back. Holding up his hands in surrender, he waits for a moment, bundling them into a circle to toss in a pile. Reid resists the urge to tell him to fold it or at least do it somehow neater, and instead watches him push it into a corner and grab some soft towel. It's one thing they can agree on; all need to be excellent. He unfolds it and lays it on the tiles, pressed against the bathtub with a tiny nudge from his foot to get it in the right corner.

He turns around once more, gets another one, and before he realizes it, Derek's on the ground in front of him.

"Alright, alright, pretty boy," He murmurs it, and Reid can feel the breath touch his skin as the fingers slosh soap suds and foaming water across the expanse of his soaked shirt. His tone is so soft, so gentle, that for a moment he doesn't believe it's coming from Morgan.

It's unimportant he decides as he takes a deep breath when the hands curl around his ribs, cupping water in thick hands and letting it run down his shirt like rivers and branches, tendrils soaking through the white, leaving the peach of his skin visible through it. Everything isn't visible, and he feels the gratitude for such an expensive, ill lifting shirt manifest in a puff from his nose. 

Or it could be the fingers stretching across the veins on his fingers, leaving the thin fabric to its own devices, that makes him make a noise. The dark fingers reach into the water, ripping waves through it and shadows following in suit, to press against his knee and thumb the dirt spots. He's aware of how personal this all is, Derek spreading his fingers through the blackened water and floating specks to massage away the caked mess across his skin.

"I didn't make you mad or anything, huh?" He asks softly. Reid smiles at the comment.

"If you did, I would've shown you," Reid replies and whisks his fingers down his legs, keen to scrub away the filth. It floats and makes the water murky, tiny puffs of grime smokey in the clear water, "And told you,"

"Alright, kid," Morgan rolls his eyes at hearing the cockiness.

Morgan, working cautiously, presses his hand against cracked skin of his legs, seeking the soft of his palm — the one rubbing the dirt away near his feet — and follows it to the water. Reid curls his legs in further, covering himself and runs a wet hand across his face. By doing so, he invites beautiful eyes away from the water, ones so soft and worn that he equates them to forest lands and flourishing greenery.

He smiles at Reid, then continues to rub the grime off his skin, humming songs all the way. If it were anyone else, he's sure he wouldn't do it. 

It takes a while, but Morgan does it with a smile, hands occasionally tracing over his body. It's a different kind of touch, different than Tobias, and he welcomes it.

He pulls the plug from the tub and tosses it onto a corner, watching the dirt swirl down the drain as the cold assaults his skin. Morgan waits until it's done to grab his arms, slow at the approach, and signal that he's about to go up.

"Here we go," Morgan grunts and pulls the weight up, although it's hardly much for him.

He groans and clutches onto his shirt, feeling the muscles bulge beneath it as he uses minimal strength to yank him up to his legs. Reid's only a little bit taller than him, still thinner, and it's easy to use him as a pillar; Morgan only seems to laugh at his nearly slipping, paying no regard for his shaky knees and knobby legs.

The cold clamps against his skin, sending spikes and goosebumps across his skin. The tension in his back still curls, and his eyes feel so weighted, the haze and blur shattering his vision so tempting to lean into that he falls forward. As quick as he falls, Morgan catches him, arms open, and a chuckle tumbles as a breath.

They spill water over the floor, splattering the floor with amounts of water that makes it difficult to maneuver across. Eventually, he sits onto the toilet and watches Morgan reach for a towel, draping one across his shoulders. 

Meticulously, he dries his body, long strokes leaving his legs feeling warm and dry in the cold of the bathroom. He works quickly, and before he knows it, his hair is getting tousled and rubbed dry with a cotton cloud. He doesn't bother putting on his pants, instead kicking them towards the trash bin.

Drying off his arms, Morgan helps him to his feet after tossing the towel into a bin. Reid leans into the muscled body, staring down at eyes that hold warmth and home.

"Come on, kid, lets go to bed," He murmurs, holding tighter onto him.

Reid presses a kiss against his forehead. Clean. He laughs into the touch as they walk out of the bathroom, helping him through the halls.

The smooth voice curls around his ear as he sparks conversation to fill the silence, baritone sweet only sweeter with the twilight stretching across his body. Derek's blinds are barely opened, but Reid can see the stars from outside reflecting in his eyes. Or maybe it's him being sentimental. 

"I'll take the floor," Morgan says as they take a step into the dimly lit room. It isn't lived in, but it's still homely.

He leads him to pillows that plush around his feet; cotton clouds meshing against his fingers as he leans into the bed. It's half-made, messy, a pillow on the floor, but it's warmer than the BAU. His head sinks into the cushion, and the scent of cedar and smoke, cologne cloaking the earth, spreading over his skin like a blanket. 

He stands over the bed, watching him relax.

"But this is your house," 

"I know, pretty boy, but I want you to be right here, okay?" Morgan walks to the other side and plops himself down. He's a barrier between him and the window.

"Fine, but if you ever want to come up here, then... you know." Reid sighs exasperated, staring down at Morgan on the wooden floors, a blanket under him, and a white pillow off the bed under his head. 

He smiles back, reaching so slowly to take the hand gripping at the side of the bed. They touch the calloused, peach, soft skin, and feels a rush run through his body. It's smooth, the veins not as popping as they had been.

He brings it to his lips and smiles as he presses a kiss onto his hand. It does not tremble nor tense, and it is only a mere brush of his lips that leaves him feeling starlight in his chest and brightness against the haze of sleep. After a moment, he closes his eyes and relishes the gleam fluttering behind his eyes, lips still soft against the hands that he knows are pure. 

Then, he pulls back and smiles up at Reid. His hair is tousled, so mussed and tired. His eyes crinkle as he smiles lazily, hollows black under his tired eyes. Reid lays back onto the bed, stretching his hand over to the lamp and pulling the dangling beaded wire. 

He lays on the floor, looking up at the hand dangling. His fingers trace the veins of his fingers once last time, right before retreating under the pillow and against the cold wood. His eyes shut.

For rest, and a good night. 


End file.
